


Binding Runes

by UnicornPunk6



Series: The Immortals Souls Entwined Season 1 [1]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Norse Religion & Lore, Anglo-Saxon, Asgard, Castles, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Dark Magic, Divination, Dwarves, Dökkálfar | Dokkalfar | Dark Elves (Norse Religion & Lore), Elemental Magic, Gods and Goddesses, Immortals, Magic, Magical Accidents, Magical Artifacts, Magical Tattoos, Magik - Freeform, Multi, Mythology - Freeform, Necromancy, Niflheimr | Niflheim (Norse Religion & Lore), Old Gods, Old Norse, Pagan Festivals, Pagan Gods, Paganism, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Runes, Svartálfar | Svartalfar | Black Elves (Norse Religion & Lore), Vanaheimr | Vanaheim, Witchcraft, Witches, black magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2020-12-13 16:23:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21000635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnicornPunk6/pseuds/UnicornPunk6
Summary: “Magik is a fickle thing, even for the most advanced witches with decades of experience under their belt. The plosive nature of it can lead to some disasterly effects if you don’t pay the right price.I stole too much from it, foolishly thinking I could escape what others couldn’t. Now I live a life stuck in limbo because I dared to do the impossible.”Oswine Corpus had it all. The money, the title to be inherited, and the girl of everyone’s dreams. It wasn’t enough. He needed more to secure his place in King Arthur’s court and to secure the safety of his younger brother.He needed Merlin.When his younger brother’s health begins to worsen without much luck of getting better, he instead turns to the help of two strangers, both with their own secrets that could endanger Oswine and his family. He gets thrown into the world of Gods and Goddesses, exploring the World Tree to save his brother as a darker force begins to grow.*Can be read as a stand alone, do not have to read any other books*





	1. The Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Book 1: The Guests

I take a step back to stare through the window again. It faces out onto the courtyard that, by this point, is more of a hodgepodge of a garden that doesn’t make any sense anymore. It’s still not raining.

Bothersome.

My herbs blow wildly in the strong wind that whistles gently through the cracks and gaps of this castle wall. It could rain soon.

I doubt it.

The Dyad Moon is nearly at its peak in the sky and I glance at the clock sitting against the wall. I suppose it’s too late now to water my plants and faff about with the well. Then again, it hasn’t rained for a long while and they could die. That would be more of a nuisance to deal with when it comes to winter and my stocks are low - although that’s unlikely because I haven’t had to do complex magik in years. It’s been a while since trouble came knocking.

I should sleep instead. Getting the days and the nights muddled never helps anyone, particularly a witch. The irony is that a witch’s schedule requires getting up at arbitrary times in the morning and night for rituals and spells that are dependant on the sun and moon, Sol and Mani. It must simply be done for reasons that elude me. At least if I miss a few here or there, it’s not the end of the world unlike the Norns who must water Yggdrasil, the world tree, every morning. But I have no spells or rituals for tonight; I should sleep.

I can’t sleep, I’m too restless. My hands itch to do something and my mind doesn’t feel at ease today. I could use a spell to put me to sleep yet that’s a waste of magik.

Defeated, I sigh. It’ll only play on my mind during the night and worse could happen. I could have flowers growing out of my face if I use a spell to get to sleep. Magik… it requires all of your attention.

I head through the empty castle, ignoring the family history that decorates the corridors. The women in my family made the most exquisite tapestries that detailed their generation, a tradition that’s been passed on from my mother and I passed onto the next. It helps the castle keep the heat in, the walls are a little damp even in the driest of seasons such as this one. Candles, with a small amount of magik, light up as I get closer but blow out behind me so I can save on candle wax. Careful to not slip on the smoothed out stone, I follow the narrow stairway down to the ground floor and cut across to the old servants' door to the outside.

The air is unbearably hot and clings to me and my clothes, strange considering it’s windy. I stick my tongue out, tasting the magnetic air. For whatever reason, a witch has decided to stop the rain and it feels as though the sky will burst if the magik isn't lessened soon. Magik can control the elements for a time but eventually nature will bounce back to balance it out again. Not even the Gods can put it off for long. Although I'm not too certain if Fate can win against it. My nose is pinched by the strong aroma of the sharp herbs, holding an annoying sneeze at the end of it. This is a good sign, I believe. I should know gardening after all this time, but I don't. That's what the books are for.

As I walk over to the old groundskeeper's house, I kick the gravel and brush my fingers against the flowers. They’re dry. I lean down and grab the watering can that sits in front of it. It’s cold to the touch; the rust is rough and flakes fall off into my hand. I shake it, water sloshing around inside. It sounds about half full, or half empty depending on how you look at it. I don’t know how I see the glass. That’s not the point, the point is I don't think I have enough water for my garden without having to fetch more. I look around my garden and chew on my lip. Yes, definitely not enough. I’ll have to mess about with the well or I could use magik to drag it out for me. Either way, it’ll tire me out.

Unless I talk to them. Sylvia says talking to them is the best kind of magik.

“Treat them like they’re your friends,” she would say if she was here.

That’s a little hard. I don’t have any friends to talk to so how do I speak to them like so? At least I believe I no longer have friends. The last I saw a friend must have been months ago, if we don’t count the spirits that come every now and then. For the most part, I’m forgotten by the kind like me. They have the full world to experience (and eight others but I’ve been told that there’s more) and I’m stuck in a tiny pocket of England. That’s arguably a good thing because it’s less trouble for me. Alfie Ryder was always running from trouble, a handful of times they brought trouble with them. Trouble finally caught up with them the last I heard. My stomach falls. Let’s not think about that.

I focus on the rosemary, trying to think of what to say. What do you say to a friend? What do you say to plants? “I… I… I love flowers,” I come out with. “You are beautiful.” I cringe at myself, my shoulders tensing up as it runs down my spine. You don’t say that to friends. Not even to lovers, I think but I wasn’t very good at that.

I sprinkle the water around, the pit in my stomach doesn’t disappear but I ignore it like always. Even in my younger days, when I was braver, I couldn’t handle the dark. Sylvia used to force me out at ridiculous times of the night to start spells that are dependant on the moon and time of day. It used to send me sideways, my days were often wrong and out of sync with my family. Now look at me, I’m doing it without her insistence. How far I’ve come.

“Oh. I hoped they’d die before you notice,” says a giggly, female voice from nowhere.

My head snaps around, but there are only flowers around me. It’s not a voice I recognise, I know my friends’ voices well, hardly any are female and I know the spirits that like to talk to me. The rest avoid me, apparently I give off an odd smell. It can’t be a stranger, no one other than my friends and the spirits know this place exist and they simply know because I told them about it. It could be the plants but why would they want them all to die?

I chuckle. “Suicidal plants,” I mumble. “It hasn’t rained, I’m saving you.”

“I know, I stopped the rain.” The voice is coming from the rose bush.

I furrow my brow at it, the plants really are talking back to me. They shouldn’t be able to talk, unless I’m unknowingly pouring magik into them, life into them. I can’t do that any more. Do I talk back to them? Seeing as it’s rude to ignore those who talk to you, I should. Perhaps I can help with their… qualms. What Qualms would a plant have? Being plucked? Or their friend being plucked and not them? “Why?”

“Wanted to see if you would save them with magik.” Them? “Freya said you stopped doing real magik.”

A woman steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight. My heart thuds against my chest and my spit is caught in my throat. Not because she is beautiful, there is nothing exceeding remarkable about her appearance or at least from what I can see in this dim light. Her clothes seems simple enough, made out of flax or linen - nothing colourful. She’s almost grey, like a ghost. Is she dead? A strong enough spirit to come through the veil? It would make sense. People can’t find my castle, not unless I allow them to.

“Who are- Who are you?” I stammer out. “How did you find me?”

She hides her face and giggles like a child or someone with a secret, collapsing in herself before skipping over to me. She moves like a comic. With her hands behind her back, she circles me and grins as she peers at my hands and arms. I’m caught between breaths. Who is she? Why is she here? “I’d have thought that the famous fate changer would have some sort of magikal traces. But no runes, not even markings from other magiks.”

I pull my cloak around me despite being hot, dropping my arms (and subsequently, the watering can that falls over and splashes us both with water.) “They were there, just not anymore.”  _ Liar, _ they’re still there just… hidden but they might as well be gone now. “Who are you? You didn’t say.”

She chuckles lightly at me and stares at me with wide eyes. She isn’t going to say. “What if you could have them again?”

My jaw clenches. There is no way in Helheim that I will have those on me again. Dangerous things, they have never brought me luck or joy, only more trouble and more pain. “Please don’t,” I whisper.

The woman rolls her eyes and with her whole body, dropping her shoulders and falling back onto the bench as if she was a comic for a King. Her smiles twists into something more sinister and her eyes tell me I shouldn’t trust her. I should go back inside. “Fine. But where did they go?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Talking to me beats talking to the flowers.”

I sigh again. She has a point, not that I like it much, and I haven’t had a conversation with a human for a long time. Not that I think she’s human but it’s a more settling thought than the other options. I pick up my watering can again and head over to the well to fill it back up the mundane way. It’s a waste of magik to use it on a well; they’re both equally as tiring to do and I might - I should make this woman get the better idea of me. This idea of me.

“Well?” She asks, not moving from the bench.

I don’t answer. Someone once said that the art to make someone listen to take a bloody long time to tell them. I can’t remember who said it, they must have taken an even longer to tell me that. It might have been… I’m getting ahead of myself.

I grab the hook tied to the end of the rope and connect my watering can to it. Using the wheel beside the well, I slowly lower the metal can into the water so I don’t lose it to the well. Again. For the 5th time this year. Once it’s in and I can feel the weight of it pulling back on the wheel, I use all of my strength to drag it up back to the top. The next bit is particularly tricky, where I have to grab the watering can and not let go of the wheel - it’s how I lose the can as I don’t have a second pair of hands to help me with this two-man job. I stretch out and grab it before I let go of the wheel. The weight of the water is still being held by the rope and it drops, causing me to smack my arm and chest against the stone. I groan in pain, pull it up and over the wall with both hands. I take the moment to catch my breath before I lug it over to the woman.

I don’t look at her and instead stare at the dying plants. This is what I was told because it helps with the intrigue. I pour water over the basil and wait a second more. “It all started with a decapitated head in the middle of the woods.”


	2. And So it Doesn't Rain

Or rather, I don’t really know where to start but the creation of a particular spell is a better place than any other. It was a day much unlike this one and I remember it well because it was the beginning of the worst.

I remember the makeshift cross squelching in the mud as I stabbed and twisted into the ground. I remember the rain relentlessly smacking my back and head. Water dripped from my hair and nose and I dither in the cold. I blew into my stiff fingers and rubbed my hands together.

I glanced back at Sylvia, who stood with her hood up next to the dead body. She held a lantern and seem relatively unbothered by the cold. It was a spell I had yet to learn and to this day, I’d rather wear heavier layers. I reached into one of my few pouches around my belt, grabbing a handful of salt to sprinkle over the twig cross. The rain lessened and became a soft patter on the mud and it left behind a strong smell of petrichor behind.

_ Is that what you did to the rain? No? _

“Why couldn’t we do this inside?” I asked Sylvia, my teeth chattering together.

“He is unsightly,” she said.

It was the first time I was this close to a body and the first time I was using one for a spell. To this day, the image of his lightless eyes and greying face will never my mind. We didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re wondering. We were borrowing him without the intention of giving him back because he wouldn’t have been mourned. We found him earlier on in the day, hanging from a tree on the edge of the woods and swaying gently in the wind.

“Did you remember the beans this time Oswine?” she asked for the fifth time. We tried to do it a month earlier except I forgot the beans. She sent me off to fetch them but by the time I came back, the moment for the spell had passed and the body had decayed. Not that I told her, although she possibly suspects, I did it on purpose because corpses creeped me out. Something so eerie about them that didn’t settle in me. I tried to explain that to her but she berated me for it. If she knew what we know now, I wonder if we would’ve performed the spell at all.

Nonetheless, I had the beans that time. I tipped them onto my palm and showed her. They were black and no bigger than my finger nail. “Good, now start the spell. We’ve been over it enough so I won’t help.”

I swallowed. Theory is different from practice, which I’m sure she understood. At times it was deadly, you could say the wrong words or use the incorrect runes or ingredients. She didn’t care much. She was very much a ‘learn as you go’ type of person. On the other hand, she wouldn’t let you do magik unless you knew everything you had to do forwards and backwards and I suppose it worked because I never messed up too horrendously under her teaching.

That didn’t mean the pressure to get it right wasn’t there. I felt my body tighten up as I knelt by the head but I might have froze because my knee sunk into the mud and cold water seeped through my clothes. My stomach churned and I gagged at the overpowering stench of death. I couldn’t let it get the best of me, no matter how much I wanted to duck away and cough. Sylvia stepped back as she saw me get myself ready. Later she told me it was because she was worried I’d set the body on fire, not that I can blame her.

First I had to mark the spell as mine, a signature and as I didn’t have my own magikal mark, I made do with what I knew. With my fingers I drew a ᛠ on his forehead and muttered the incarnation under my breath:

_ “Ear byþ egle eorla gehwylcun _

_Ðonne fæstilice flæsc onginneþ.”_ As I spoke the words of Oðin, the magik spilled through my body, warming me up and stopping my dither. Time slowed down, the sounds of the forest disappeared as the magik surrounded me.

_ “Hraw colian, hrusan ceosan _

_ Blac to gebeddan; bleda gedreosaþ _

_ Wynna gewitaþ, wera geswicaþ.” _

I glanced at Sylvia for her approval. She pursed her lips together as she hummed, “That would be fitting if you were helping his soul pass on. You’re not doing that.” I flinched at her critical words. She noticed, I believe, and with a softer smile she added, “But it’ll be unique.”

I nodded and focused back on the body and spell while the magik was still hot in the air and before I could lose concentration. The last time that happened, the spell exploded in my face. From my belt, I took the canteen that was tied it and opened it to spill over the head. The brandy barely masked the smell of decay. Once I was done, I stood up and the cold came crashing back the second the magik disappeared from the air. I shook and gasped, my breath was misty as the last of the warmth left me.

Knowing Sylvia would want me to tell her what comes next, I wheezed out, “We come back tomorrow and water him.” It’s not watering him if it’s done with brandy, however I don’t know how else to explain it.

“What if someone discovers him and interferes with the spell?” She quizzed. She did that a lot, correcting me on what I had forgotten to do even if she promised to not help at the beginning.

I cursed under my breath and grabbed another handful of salt and, with my other, I took some rosemary to sprinkle them over the head. The warmth came back as I said words of Sylvia, not of Oðin that time.  _ “Höðr of darkness, shadow of a moonless night, invisible legions of a world without Freyr’s light, gather now around that all may hear. Gather now around that all may see. In accordance with Thor and Loki, acting as guardians, shielders and protectors, hide this form from Odin’s Ravens so that even whilst they search in earnest. Lo, shall it not be found. So it may be, let it be.” _ The head vanished from sight and again, the cold returned and settled in my bones.

What happened next isn’t important. I just went home but I can’t remember what I did. I might have sat in front of the fire to warm the chill that was settling in my bones, or I may have spent some time with my brother. Father may have forced me to hunt with him although given the rain, that is doubtful. Mother could have rambled on to me about the tapestry she was making. There is a chance that Sylvia made me perform more rituals and spells so that come sundown, I’d be so exhausted that I’d have to sleep. Whatever happened, it doesn’t matter because it was a very ordinary day.

“Up!” said a shrill voice the next morning. I groaned and rolled over with the hope that whoever it was would eventually leave me be.

She did not. She threw the blankets off me, plunging me into the cold. The maids hadn’t lit the fires yet, that’s how early I was woken up. Instinctively, I covered myself with my hands and curled up on the bed - not that I slept naked, it was cold and I didn’t want her to see me in my bed clothes because it’s improper.

She clapped. I fell out of the bed, landing on the stone fall in a disgruntled heap. “I’m up!” I looked, or possibly, glared at Sylvia who gave me a bright smile. She didn’t look away from me, which is odd because most women would and should do that. But she was an odd woman, especially when nobody important was looking, when the True King’s court wasn’t looking at her, except for perhaps her husband. She wasn’t like any woman I had ever met. (That will change soon but I’m getting ahead of myself.) I suppose I used to have a soft eye for her because of her uniqueness which was wrong of me as I was supposed to have my eyes on another.

“Get dressed, gather anything you would need because we are going into the woods,” she ordered as she searched through my wardrobe to throw clothes at my head.

Turning her back as I changed, Sylvia stayed in the room to make sure that I didn’t dawdle or get sidetracked with various things in my room. Back then it used to be crammed with my witchy things that wouldn’t fit into my cabinet - study, I mean. That’s what it’s called now, how times have changed. Plenty of herbs and crystals as well books of history and notes were stored in those two rooms, neatly of course because mother couldn’t stand clutter. Not much has changed since then, except that the entire castle has my magikkal things around. I’ve lived a long life, my collection of interesting and magik things grew with time. How? I had - have? Have friends that will give me things that I might find fascinating. One even gave me a crown from this hoard, which is now near impossible to find. Or so I’ve heard.

I grabbed the brandy on the dresser and only the brandy on the dresser, a mistake really. At the time I assumed that’s all she meant and it wasn’t until we were wandering through the woods in the dark hours of the morning when I realised she also meant take things that would help us find the invisible head and possibly ingredients to make it reappear and disappear again and time was running out before it was sunrise.

Sylvia, helpful as ever, didn’t say a word as I wandered through the woods. I was so sure that it was in  _ this _ direction, past the old oak tree that was engraved with plenty of runes, mainly ᚪ. I chewed and pulled on the skin on my lips, breaking it until it bled. Nowadays if I lose something like that (not that I do because I can’t leave), I would perform a small spell almost immediately but I wasn’t so smart in those days. It took Sylvia sighing three times and us walking past a few birch trees before I remembered that I knew a finding spell. Now I know several, not that I mean to brag. The first finding spell I learned became a little impractical to perform as my situation changed.

“There is a possibility that I didn’t take note of where we were,” I said after a long while.

She sighed. “This is why I woke you up a few hours before we really needed to. Now what do you do?”

“A finding spell, I need a smoothed out pebble.”

I headed towards the sound of the babbling brook with Sylvia following behind, holding the lanter. My feet sank into the floor and my shoes became drenched with mud as I searched. I don’t think that it had rained that day but it hadn’t recovered from the rain the day before. Trudging into the water, I felt around and shuddered at the cold and dirt.

The lantern cast an annoyingly large shadow and blocked my view so I turned to Sylvia and asked, “Could you please hold the lantern up?” She nodded and did just that.

When I found an adequate pebble, I waded out of the water. My feet were as stiff as stone and my shoes were pouring water. I sank further into the mud and needed Sylvia’s hand to help me out. It was too late to take my shoes off.

I threw the stone in the air and said, “ _ Nyd. _ ” It flew off and I ran after it. Or as best as one can with wet, slippery shoes on wet, slippery grass. Sylvia followed after me, then she overtook me when I fell over. My heart jumped in my mouth as I lost my footing and hit the floor with a squelch. The ground was soft, which made scrambling to my feet a challenge as the dirt slid from under me. When I was up and dirty, I ran after Sylvia. Part of me was happy that she was willing to run after my magik for me.

I got the cross that still stood up in the ground. Slyvia had already uncovered the head to save time and I performed the same spell as yesterday. I traced the  _ ear _ rune on his head and repeated the spell:

_ “Ear byþ egle eorla gehwylcun _

_ Ðonne fæstilice flæsc onginneþ. _

_ Hraw colian, hrusan ceosan _

_ Blac to gebeddan; bleda gedreosaþ _

_ Wynna gewitaþ, wera geswicaþ.” _

Again the words filled me with a soothing fire as I said them and the second I stopped, the cold came crashing back but this time, I kept a small flame alive inside of me. I threw brandy over the head and denied the urge the inspect the beans - I didn’t want to become disheartened and lose faith in the magik. That’s how spells don’t work.

Before Sylvia could say anything else, I said the next spell to hide the head.  _ “Höðr of darkness, shadow of a moonless night, invisible legions of a world without Freyr’s light, gather now around that all may hear. Gather now around that all may see. In accordance with Thor and Loki, acting as guardians, shielders and protectors, hide this form from Odin’s Ravens so that even whilst they search in earnest. Lo, shall it not be found. So it may be, let it be.” _

The next 6 days went that way. Sylvia woke me up in the dead of the night while the castle was cold; I dragged her through the woods to find the head to pour brandy over it; we’d turn back to the castle and do other spells. My father would take me hunting and Sylvia would make me heal the animals we hunted, which, as usual, caused arguments about who is teaching the more valuable lesson as I set my traps. When the day grew darker, I’d spend time with Leofric and help fix his toys or tell him stories. My mother would force to help decorate the castle for the party that was to come. She’d make me use magik to keep the flowers and herbs alive until the party but I’m ahead of myself.

The 8th day, the spell was different. As we came to the dead head, there was a spirit sat next to it. His face is the same, if less bloated and rotten, but it could’ve been an imposter.

“What are you doing?” the spirit asked as I began to pour brandy on the head.

I didn’t look at him. Sylvia had told me to give him as little attention as possible, which is a little hard considering he’s my first ghost encounter. I was excited and nervous, I had heard stories about what happens if the wrong sort of soul came to visit you. They can snatch you or take over your body because they’re stronger than you. I couldn’t give him much attention, so I didn’t. I said what I was instructed to say, “I am watering my plant.”

My cheeks flushed red. I felt silly saying it because anyone could see that this head wasn’t a plant.

“Give me that bottle,” the spirit said as he held out his hand. He was blue and half transparent and glowed. I marveled at him but I was also disturbed. The dead was talking to me. The  _ dead. _ It’s impossible, right? He should be waiting to go to Hel, waiting for a Valkyrie to take him. However, there he was.  _ Talking to me _ . “I will water it myself,” he continued.

“I am watering my plant,” I repeated, putting some force behind my voice.

The spirit frowned. “Give me that bottle, I will water it myself.” Whoever that man was, I don’t think he was told no often enough when he was alive.

“No, I am watering my plant.”

He sighed and drew out the  _ ear _ rune on his former head. I handed over the bottle brandy and he watered himself. Again, I was shocked. Sylvia did say that he would do that but it didn’t make it less surprising that he could hold things. Or it might have only been that bottle that was covered in my magik. Once the spirit is done admiring himself and watering it, he leaves. Vanishes from the air before my eyes and dropped the bottle. It smashed because the ground had dried and baked under the summer sun since it last rained. It was a shame, I could’ve used it for another spell.

The ninth day of the spell should be the easiest… if you can get over the grossness of what you have to do. When we arrived at the head that morning, the five beans were ripe. No longer were they black and instead a multitude of colours. Pinks, purples, reds, greens, yellows, blues. Strange things, but that’s magic for you.

“Ozzy, they look perfect,” Sylvia turned them over in her hand with a great deal of awe on her face. Pride burst through my chest; it was unusual for her to compliment me and even more rare that I got something so right she didn’t have anything to say other than words of praise. However, in one sentence, she was able to shatter that pride. “Now put one in your mouth.”

My face dropped and my heart plummeted with doom. I forgot about that part of the spell. “W-what?”

“You knew you had to do this.” She held a bean out for me to take.

Wide eyed and horrified, I stared at her hand. “Yes but…” My eyes darted at the grey and green head. With the flesh well on its way through deposing, the head reeked of death. My stomach churned at the stench and she forced the bean into my hand. (Which wasn’t that hard, I didn’t hold it in a tight fist.)

I placed my hands on my knees and continued to gag until my mouth watered. I puked on the grass again and again, emptying my stomach and burning my throat. I spat out the last of the stale bitter taste of vomit and wiped my mouth.

I glanced over at my mentor, she tapped her foot and stared at me with cold eyes. There was no way I could get out of this without putting it in my mouth. The bean was cold and it didn’t taste of anything. Despite that, my stomach still churned away.

Sylvia smiled at me. In fact, she grinned. “Well done Ozzy!”

**Author's Note:**

> This should be fun. This story is set in the same world as Captain Rhodes (Way Hey and Up She Rises can be found on here) and it's all part of this whole thing but you can read as a stand alone!


End file.
